


nothing left to lose

by loonyloopy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Blood, Lots of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyloopy/pseuds/loonyloopy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entry for the Cullen telephone game on tumblr (the prompt was "hour"): Cullen right after the fall of Kirkwall's chantry</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing left to lose

The last hour had changed everything. Screaming and fighting and a whole city on fire. Cullen felt the ground trembling and the thick blood on his chin. The smell was sickening. His cheek was throbbing with a dull pain. Speaking hurt and he remained quiet and very still, as the surgeon put his skin back together. The young man was efficient and quick, because he could feel the templar’s patience diminish with every second. He couldn’t afford to be idle, not now. Cullen’s fingers were trembling and clenched tight. Nerves and a lack of lyrium made him fidgety. Kirkwall’s Hightown was gone. One mage had destroyed the Chantry and many were ready to join his cause, even if it meant open rebellion and the use of blood magic and accepting the help of demons. A mixture of ash and smoke darkened the sky about the city and he could hear the abominations roaming the streets, killing even more. Cullen suppressed the mental images of Ferelden, which haunted and teased him in every waking hour. Now more so than ever.

He closed his eyes. They needed a plan. Fast. He and some other templars had built a make shift camp in an abandoned building, barricaded themselves, saved everyone they could find, and tried to bring some order into the chaos. They had been lucky enough to be neither in the Gallows nor in Hightown, when everything went to shit.

“Knight Captain?” Catriona was one of the younger ones, but the last hour had made her features dark and sorrowful and seemingly older than her mere twenty years. Cullen couldn’t face her, while the last stitches were placed into his skin. His lip would forever bear witness to the fall of Kirkwall. The thought almost made him smile. Just another one to add to the collection of memories etched into his flesh. “Report.”

Catriona looked at her bloody hands. “Three more killed. We found a group of survivors and brought them with us though.” He nodded.

“Good. Give them something to drink and eat and some of the blankets.” The wound was finally closed, but Cullen didn’t dare to stand up right away. His legs felt numb. “We can’t hold this post much longer.” Picking up his sword and shield he ignored the ache in his muscles. His jerkin was already soaked with sweat and his body bruised and battered beneath heavy plate. The last cut had been just another one in a series of attacks. A desperate spell knocking him out. He was thankful for even surviving it. Or not. He didn’t know. He just wanted to be this mad day to be over, to finally find some rest and quiet. The lines between dying and living seemed to blur. His mouth was dry.

“Did you hear anything about the Knight Commander?” Catriona’s eyes became distant and she was clearly struggling with the answer. Most of them had been surprised about the lingering madness visible in Meredith’s eyes. Cullen was ashamed that he didn’t notice it earlier and instead followed her without raising questions and ignoring his own doubts. He hoped that it wasn’t too late to help the people, who suffered from her rage and paranoia.

“Yes. She was last seen heading to the Gallows to confront Serah Hawke.” That made him look up. “Hawke is in the Gallows?” Well, she would. In those past years one couldn’t talk about Kirkwall without mentioning their hero. Rumor suggested that one of her friends was responsible for the explosion of the Chantry. The one, who’d ran a clinic in Darktown, tending to the poor and lost. The one, they’d ignored until Meredith’s orders couldn’t be denied any longer. Cullen wasn’t surprised about this either and Catriona’s hand felt warm on his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Cullen?” No, but who was today. Maker, he needed lyrium. His steps were clumsy, vision blurry, and senses dull. “We need to make a push. Lure the abominations away from here to give these people a chance.” Maybe twenty templars were left under his command, most of them far too young to witness the fall of their city, tending to the civilians, who were caught in a crossfire of a war that they didn’t understand. And a group of mages, who hadn’t joined the fighting, most of them tranquil, and in dire need of protection. He heard the desperate cries for help and understood that he couldn’t save them all. More people would lose their lives today. They’d been fighting, trying to stop anyone from entering, using furniture as a wall. Their prayers were left unheard. He’d seen friends dying, being ripped apart by gruesome nightmares. It was too easy to remember Uldred. The air smelled alike, death and fire, rotting flesh, despair. Cullen raised his voice.

“I need volunteers. Five go with me, the rest will stay and guard this house with their lives.” Some of them looked like wanting to complain, but the grim expression on Cullen’s face was enough to quiet any sign of objection. This was not the time for youthful heroics and dreams of glory. No one was fighting for the Maker. This wasn’t about faith, prayers sounded hollow amidst the dead. Catriona was at his side in an instant, Bailey followed, Jeran, Silas, Kestrel. How many of them would even survive? One, two? No one. He was ordering people to die. “Be vigilant.” The weight of his sword was a comfort. He’d face the demons, the mages, his Commander. Surviving wasn’t important.

Not anymore.


End file.
